Or could it be the fact that she had preceded me?  Perhaps Gatton had not confided the whole of his ideas to me—­perhaps, as I had already suspected, the heart of “the Oritoga mystery” lay here and not in London.

The result of my meditations was that I determined, in pursuit of my original plan, first to call upon Mr. Edward Hines; and having inquired of Martin the way to Leeways Farm, I took my stick and set out.

CHAPTER XVI

THE GOLDEN CAT

It was a perfect morning and although the sun had not yet attained to its full power it had dispersed the early mist and I knew that in another hour or less the heat would once more have become tropical.  During the first part of my walk, and whilst I remained in the neighborhood of Upper Crossleys, I met never a wayfarer, and memories of the green eyes followed me step by step so that I was often tempted to look back over my shoulder by the idea that I should detect, as I had detected once before, the presence of some follower.  I resented this impulse, however.  I felt that my imagination was adding horrors to those which already actually existed, so that I should presently find myself unable to distinguish the real from the imaginary.

At the end of half an hour’s steady tramping I saw before me a place where a wood dipped down to the wayside so that its trees cast a broad shadow across the path.  I knew that the entrance to the farm lay just beyond; and, pressing on past the trees, I saw many outbuildings having none of that deserted appearance which characterized the neighboring homesteads of Upper Crossleys.  Twenty yards beyond the farm itself appeared in view.

There was some sign of activity about the yard, and, walking briskly forward, I presently found myself looking into a stone-paved place containing numbers of milk-cans.  Here a woman was engaged in sweeping the floor, and: 

“I have called to see Mr. Edward Hines,” I said.  “Can you tell me where I shall find him?”

The woman stared at me in a strange and almost stupefied manner.

“Is he a friend of yours?” she inquired.

“He is not exactly a friend of mine,” I continued; “but I have very particular business with him.”

She continued to stare in that curious way and remained silent for so long that I began to think she was not going to reply, when: 

“If Mr. Edward is not expecting you,” she said, “I don’t know that I should advise you to go in.  He is not very well just now—­and he is sometimes rather strange.”

“I know,” I said.  “I quite understand; but he will be willing to see me when he knows what I have come about.  Shall I find him yonder?”

I pointed towards an open door leading to which was a neat, graveled path lined by well-kept flower-beds, and which I took to be the main entrance to the farm.

“Well, sir,” said the woman doubtfully, “they’ll tell you there if Mr. Edward is to be seen; but I don’t advise it”